


gross prose (aka fuck me up)

by phasma



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:58:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phasma/pseuds/phasma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a lil piece i posted to tumblr about gays, vampires, and the seventies. groovy, man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gross prose (aka fuck me up)

**Author's Note:**

> writing practice. im listenin to the dark shadows sound track so have some shit about a vampire from the seventies. nsfw kinda. lotsa talk about blood too, lol

she is the epitome of disgusting. an unholy mixture of blood and her own saliva collects at the bottom of her chin, her body limp on the bed, legs splayed as she scratches mindlessly at her crotch. her wiry bush pokes out through practically useless underpants, and lynn can’t help but wonder why she bothers to stay and watch the (literal) monster lounge on her bed. its skin is pasty, a drab addition to lynn’s otherwise festive comforter (orange, with a pattern of hot pink accents. most likely of cannabis). from her spot at the foot, she sees the creature sitting up at the head of the bed, chest heaving with every long, superfluous breath. it’d nearly be hypnotic, if lynn could only tear her eyes away from the smudge of yuck that’s beginning to dribble down onto her guest’s chest, causing her to almost heave right then and there. 

of course the chick’s enervated; lynn was very much present when she all but ingested her neck. just the thought prompts lynn to feel at her new scars, nerves hissing at every clotted puncture. she remains impervious. it wasn’t like she didn’t ask for a really great night, with only a small one-time-fee of half her blood drained. if she were being honest, it kinda made things hotter. kinda.

and only kinda, because now it isn’t so great. now it’s a dim, musty room with a stranger staining lynn’s bed with her own blood, and a worn out record playing in the back. tuned out mostly, since the only thing lynn’s listening to right now is her own breathing; wondering if it’ll ever return to normal. she hopes each exhale gets her message across to the monster across from her.

(thank you)

inhale.

(that was fun)

inhale.

(now, if you could so kindly)

inhale.

(quit fuckin up my bedding)

that one was with flared nostrils and a laser-focused stare on her ephemeral bedmate. the monster doesn’t move a muscle. lynn all but growls. if her eyes weren’t open and staring back with the same fervor, lynn would think she was asleep.

“what are you.” it comes from the back of her throat. 

“voracious.”

an ogle from lynn’s sullen eyes of pin-prick canines. they could shred her. “and that makes me, what? a snack?” her gaze is unwavering, just like her voice. 

if the creature didn’t have limbs, lynn would think it was a slug that slithered up to her. like she could blame her though. they’re both exhausted and spent and in a way, they’re both disgusting, because lynn can only hum in contentment when her hand, now pasty and decaying like her partner’s, is brought up to her face with a terse promise of, “not anymore.”


End file.
